


Nightly Trauma

by BurningLeviathans



Category: Far Cry 3
Genre: Gen, PTSD, Post Rook Islands, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2013-02-25
Packaged: 2017-12-03 14:37:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/699323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurningLeviathans/pseuds/BurningLeviathans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Riley suffers from severe nightmares and PTSD once Jason saves him and their friends from Rook Islands. Jason tries to comfort him every night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightly Trauma

The sun rose and fell, the moon followed suit, and the cycle was repeated in a mad chase every day. Time passed in a blur, but somehow, it seemed to merely crawl along, everything speeding by. Nothing seemed real anymore, it all seemed completely staged. Everyone just walking about, chatting on their smartphones or hailing cabs, catching trolleys, yelling at other drivers in traffic. It all seemed unreal. No one was phased by how brutal life could really be. They lived in a fog of blessed ignorance.

Every night, fingers curled and clawed into white sheets, palms sweating and scraping against the blanket. Eyes rolled and fluttered madly beneath bruised, thin lids, sweat dotting the skin that had long since healed of bruises and cuts, bearing little to no scarring. Large circles claimed the pallid skin beneath the wild eyes, only growing darker and creating the man to be more gaunt, a skeleton of who he used to be.

Every night, he would sit up and let out a strangled scream, covered in a cold sweat. Tears intermingled with the sweat on his face, red lines criss crossing the whites of his eyes. Wild black hair would be even more unruly, and the door would open quietly. A crack of hallway light would illuminate the dark room, before being swiftly snuffed out, replaced with the barest hint of artificial city light from outside. There was no moonlight in the city smog. There was nothing natural in the city.

The bed would not creak as a second body's weight was added to the mattress, strong, familiar arms wrapping around the slender, trembling frame that was so broken. An unfamiliar tattoo would still cover a large expanse of skin, creating more fear in the broken man. The strong arms would pull him to a familiar chest, his head laying against it to listen to a familiar, calm heart beat. A hand would rub his back, smooth down his hair, a soft kiss being placed on the locks.

Jason understood the horror Riley would go through every night. He didn't know exactly what had happened with Hoyt, but Riley had sworn up and down that he had just been held hostage. Nothing like what Keith had gone through with Buck. Even so, Riley would wake in the middle of each night, screaming or crying. Crying for Grant, screaming for Jason, one or the other. They were all that was left.

Jason would just sit there as Riley cried against him, silent as he clung to his older brother. It had only been a month since they'd escaped. The horror was still fresh on the mind of the youngest mind. Jason could do nothing, say nothing, that would help to calm Riley. He could only just hold his brother, try to comfort him with his presence.

Riley would soon fall into a weakened sleep that was probably more passing out than sleeping, but it was still resting. Jason would lay his head down in his lap, continue to pet those messy black locks, and just sit there until the sun rose. 

Every night, this ritual was repeated, and every night, Riley would dream about how the Jason he had known before the nightmare on Rook Islands was dead, an imposter taking his place. It did little to comfort him, but the presence of someone that was still remotely familiar to him was all he had to cling to.


End file.
